Like most parents, I adore my offspring. They make me laugh daily. Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture cues up in my head when they triumph. Watching them sleep is practically a religious experience. I’d step in front of a train for them in a heartbeat. I am silly-stupid-crazy in love with them.
But as much as I adore them, there are times—sometimes seconds, sometimes hours—when all I want to do is hide from them. Somewhere quiet and far away where I can curl up in the fetal position, daydream about Nate Berkus remodeling my bedroom, and pretend my time and energy are my own like they used to be.
And like most parents, I also have moments that go a step further. Times when parenting gets REAL. Crazy, ugly moments when panic, frustration, and what-the-hell-am-I-doing-ness prompt me to seek out some expert—any expert—to grace me with his or her infinite parenting wisdom.
I’ve collected a long list of such special times. For instance, the torturous month our first baby wouldn’t sleep longer than 30 minutes at a time—day or night. Or the year-and-a-half that our otherwise potty-trained preschooler flatly refused to use a self-flushing toilet, no matter how badly she needed to go. Or the morning our 7-year-old spontaneously erupted into a screaming, crying fit because she was—and I quote—”the shortest person in the car!!“
You know, those little chestnuts.
Up until recently, when I’ve had a desperate parenting moment, I’d do what any proper modern mother does: Haul the kids and my yoga-pants-clad-derriere to Barnes and Noble, treat myself to a latte, and browse the parenting books. (While keeping the moppets within eyeshot, of course. Would it kill them to move the frickin’ train table to the “Mommy Needs Professional Help” section??)
If you’ve ever visited the parenting section of a bookstore, you know that it can take hours just to take in the sheer volume of expert advice oozing off of those shelves. And it’s reassuring at first. Surely all those family practice doctors, sociologists, and psychologists know something you don’t, right? With all of their experience and education and letters after their names, they must have some insight into why your kid is defying all logic and reason. Right? Right?!
|Photo Credit: Stephen Cummings
Of course, as you quickly discover while perusing some of those books, the “experts” can’t possibly have all the answers. Because for every parental dilemma, from how to convince your baby that sleep is not a form of medieval torture to how to get your toddler to drop a deuce in a public toilet, you’ll find dozens of experts with dozens of conflicting opinions. And to add insult to injury, the vast majority of them spout their expertise in such a way as to make you feel like a deuce in a public toilet if you don’t follow their advice.
Just for funsies, let’s take a quick look at some advice from the experts, shall we?
So basically, the bookstore parenting section boasts dozens of highly educated and experienced experts with dozens of conflicting opinions. And unfortunately, logically, there’s no way all of these people can be right. Right? Right.
Now, the good thing about this fact is that no matter what you decide to do as a parent, you can almost always find an expert opinion to back you up. No matter how badly you screw up, someone with credentials will be there to validate your choices. That part is encouraging. Sort of.
The downside of having no parenting experts is, well, there really are no parenting experts. We’re all flying by the seat of our pants. None of us really knows what the flip we’re doing. And none of us knows for sure whether what we are doing will produce stellar, self-sufficient, emotionally-balanced adults or hoarding, self-medicating, passive-aggressive train wrecks. That’s encouraging, too. Sort of.
So after fourteen years of implementing expert advice, seeing it “work” for a short time, and then having to start all over again when a new age/stage/phase hits, I decided to take the term “expert” out of my mothering lexicon and liberate myself from the bookstore parenting section for good. That doesn’t mean I never consult my favorite child development books. Au contraire, I still have my moments of panic and need someone with more education, ambition—and clearly more time—than me to shed some light on why my school-aged children can’t seem to pick up their dirty Kleenexes on their own. But I don’t see the “parenting experts” as experts in parenting. They might be experts in child psychology, health, or education, but they are no more experts in parenting than you and I are.
In fact, after reading dozens of parenting books, I’ve found by far that the most helpful parenting wisdom comes from other moms like me, either in real life or on the Interwebs. (Please note that I said wisdom, not advice. As soon as someone starts offering advice about parenting, my teeth start to itch. I love to brainstorm ideas for dealing with specific issues with other moms. I welcome suggestions and alternative possibilities with open arms. But the minute it becomes “Here’s what you should do,” instead of “Hey, maybe you could try this,” I get all sweaty and panicky.)
Bottom line: The totality of parenting is fraught with questions, and the truth is that there are very very few single right answers. Should you ever emotionally or physically abuse your kids? No. Should you let your kids emotionally or physically abuse you or others? No. Those are about the only black-and-white answers I can think of when it comes to parenting. Most everything else is an ocean of gray.
I have 5726 examples of how parenting different kids requires different strategies, techniques, tones of voice, rewards, consequences, lack of rewards, lack of consequences, etc. And that’s just within my own household. How can “experts” who have never met you or your children possibly know what really makes your kid tick, much less how to handle his or her individual quirks within your family’s unique dynamics and circumstances?
They can’t. It’s that simple. Experts schmexperts.
No hard feelings, Barnes and Noble. We’re still coffee buddies. But now, instead of the parenting section, I spend my time over in Home and Garden, drooling over DIY patio furniture and the domestic perfection I’ll never attain.
(And Nate Berkus, of course, because he’s just so darned pretty.)